


Home Sweet Home

by RoseIsRelatable



Series: Kittenfisher/Stardust AU [4]
Category: ONEUS (Band), ONEWE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Artist Youngjo, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Homelessness, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28716018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseIsRelatable/pseuds/RoseIsRelatable
Summary: Yeo Hwanwoong left his mother behind in Jeonju, on a quest to make something of himself in the big capital city. Seoul hasn't exactly been the world he dreamed of, however, and he's stuck squatting in a musty basement while he waits to set hearts on fire.Kim Youngjo loves three things: art, his dog, and Hwanwoong. His café job? He could take it or leave it. The rooftop apartment? Could be better. The honey cakes Hwanwoong's mother sends in the mail? Well, maybe make thatfourthings.Can Youngjo convince Hwanwoong to move in before winter arrives and freezes them both?A spinoff of Kittenfisher and Stardust with Feelings, starting somewhere shortly after Stardust with Feelings chapter 11.
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Yeo Hwanwoong
Series: Kittenfisher/Stardust AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923781
Comments: 38
Kudos: 50





	1. Home Sweet... No

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this was going to be a oneshot.  
> Then I wrote it.  
> It had other plans for itself.  
> Anyway, do enjoy!

Hwanwoong snuck down the alley like a ghost. Halfway through, a concrete stairway led down below the ground. He glanced around before bounding down the steps and withdrawing a screwdriver from his backpack. Some people have keys. Others have door codes. Hwanwoong had a screwdriver. Whatever. It worked. He held onto the doorknob on his side of the door. On the other side, it loosened as he turned the screws, finally falling onto the hard concrete floor with an echoing clatter. He pulled the door open, quickly reassembled the knob, and slipped inside, letting the door click shut behind him. 

He turned on his phone’s flashlight, sweeping the beam around the cavernous, dark room. The sunrise wasn’t quite bleeding through the dusty little windows yet. His cheap yo, just a thin sleeping mat he’d brought along when he left Jeonju, took up a small space along the cement block wall. It was straightened up just like his mother had trained him when he lived with her. He made his bed every morning, starting at the age of four, and it extended into his adulthood, though he no longer had a bed. 

Hwanwoong scanned around the room, thoroughly checking every corner and crack for mice and roaches… and worse. Satisfied that he was alone, Hwanwoong finally sat on his yo and covered his legs with the blanket. He was exhausted from work and he stretched out on his back, laying his head on the pillow and closing his eyes. Home sweet homeless.

* * *

He needed a shower. The nearby jjimjilbang was cheap. The staff were friendly, always treating him to boricha and bowl after bowl of sticky white rice. He brought his phone charger along. The battery was dead and he was eager to plug it into the wall and text his mother. 

The water in the shower was nearly scalding hot, filling the stall with steam. A pleasant green tea scent engulfed him as he scrubbed his hair and face. Sandalwood took over when he moved on to a tiny bar of soap, just big enough to wash his body. He stepped out in clean sage green sauna clothes, hanging baggy from his small frame. They looked like hospital scrubs, but with the addition of a towel hat with Princess Leia-like buns on both sides of his head. 

Hwanwoong sat cross-legged on a mat in the men’s communal room, shoved his charge cable into the wall, and checked his battery percentage. At 10%, his phone blinked back to life. His lock screen was a photo of the view from the front step of his mother’s house, all cobbled brick pavement with the roof of a temple peeking over the trees. He had a few missed texts from his mom and decided to take care of those first. He’d deal with his missed call from Youngjo after he talked to her.

**_Mommy (6:02 AM): You must be sleeping now, my hardworking baby. I love you._ **

**_Mommy (8:20 AM): Do you still like honey cakes? I bought a big bag of them from the honey cake halmeoni by the hanoks. I could send some to you if you’re homesick._ **

**_Mommy (11:30 AM): Please bring Youngjo home with you next time you visit. I still need to meet that boy._ **

Reading the words “honey cakes” made Hwanwoong’s stomach growl, though it was nearly impossible to hear over the crowd of chattering men. He wanted honey cakes from Jeonju, especially if the halmeoni his mother was talking about was the one he was thinking of. Hers were always perfectly soft, sweet, and just a little sticky. 

One of the staff picked his way through the room with a tray. He set a bowl of rice and a cup of steaming boricha in front of Hwanwoong. “Kamsahamnida,” Hwanwoong mumbled, nodding. 

_ Me (1:16 PM): Please send honey cakes. I need them. I am but skin and bones. Send a few extra so I can share with Youngjo. _

**_Mommy (1:20 PM): Of course, baby! How’s Seoul?_ **

_ Me (1:22 PM): Same as ever. My roommates are noisy. I’m having rice and tea. _

**_Mommy (1:23 PM): Please eat more than that. Mommy worries about you._ **

Hwanwoong smiled, shoveling a spoonful of rice into his mouth. She worried, and that was why she didn’t know where he was living. He gave her Youngjo’s address when she wanted to send letters and gifts. It was better for her heart than knowing her son was squatting in the unused basement under a pocha.

_ Me (1:26 PM): I’m just not feeling well today. I’ll be fine. Love you! _

**_Mommy (1:27 PM): Love you more, my baby._ **

Hwanwoong tapped on the missed call, his phone automatically connecting him to Youngjo.  _ “Eung?”  _ came the answer after three rings.

“Hi, Nyangie,” Hwanwoong purred. “Sorry I missed you. I was sleeping and then my phone was dead and now-”

_ “So you’re okay?”  _ Youngjo breathed a long sigh of relief.  _ “Thank God.” _

“Mmm, I’m fine,” Hwanwoong confirmed, taking a sip of boricha. It was finally just cool enough to drink without burning his taste buds off. It tasted like sweet roasted barley. “My mom is sending a package to your place again but I don’t know when it’ll arrive. It’s honey cakes.”

_ “I can get you honey cakes at the market,”  _ Youngjo laughed.

“You don’t understand,” Hwanwoong said. “These are real granny honey cakes from a real old granny in Jeonju. They’re my favorite.”

_ “Ah, I see.”  _ Youngjo still had laughter in his tone, like he was amused by Hwanwoong. Something hissed and clanged in the background.  _ “Ah-yah! Oh, steam is hot. Wow, that hurts.” _

“Are you at work?” Hwanwoong asked. His heart pattered in his chest. “Is everything okay?”

_ “I’m at work, yeah. I just burned my hand on the steam from the espresso machine.”  _ Hwanwoong could hear a faucet turning on. Youngjo was running his burn under cold water.  _ “I think I got out of the way fast enough that I won’t sustain too much damage. Where are you?” _

“At the jjimjilbang across from the pocha I live under.”

_ “I still don’t understand why you won’t just move in with Sunny and me.”  _ Hwanwoong fell silent, nibbling at the rice in his spoon.  _ “Peanut? I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to rely on anyone else, but it’s hard to be self-made in this city. And you came here with nothing.” _

“I know,” Hwanwoong mumbled. “I’ll come over after I get off work tomorrow and sleep with you, okay?”

_ “All right. You know where to find the key. See you tomorrow.” _

* * *

Hwanwoong’s job was easy. Clean the store, stock the shelves and toss anything that had expired, and man the cash register whenever there were late-night customers. He kept an eye on his watch as he mopped the floor. The triangular kimbap in the snack fridge would officially expire at 12:01 in the morning, but that didn’t make it inedible, and Hwanwoong was allowed to have as much expired kimbap as he wanted. 

As soon as the clock turned over, Hwanwoong propped the mop up against the counter and skipped to the refrigerators at the back wall of the convenience store. He tossed all the expired kimbap into a basket and trotted back to the front of the store. They were wrapped tightly in plastic cling film, and he peeled it away from one that promised to be stuffed with rice, kimchi, pickled radish, and Spam, and bit into its grassy seaweed exterior. 

Hwanwoong was on his tiptoes, stocking a shelf of ChocoPie, when one of the morning workers showed up for his 4 AM shift. He could just see a head of bright blue hair sticking up over the top of the aisle. He stuffed the last box into place and emerged, breaking down the shipping box as he walked. “Annyeong!” he sang, nodding at his cute dongsaeng. Giwook was small, though still taller than Hwanwoong, with squishy cheeks and uneven eyes. Giwook had been born with just one double-creased eyelid and it gave him a unique face. “Up late with Dongmyeong again?” Hwanwoong asked, winking.

“Yeah,” Giwook said with a yawn. “I swear he could text endlessly. Are you going straight home?”

“I’m going to Youngjo’s place.” Hwanwoong made his way behind the counter and watched Giwook count his till. “I should pick up some more treats for Sunny before I go. Maybe he’ll forgive me for stealing his spot in Youngjo’s bed. Hey, do you know how Dongju and Geon…”

“Hak,” Giwook said without glancing up from the bills he was counting.

“Geonhak! Yeah. Do you know how they’re doing? Every time I ask Dongju-yah, he turns all red and asks me if I want to die.”

“They’re fine.” Giwook closed the till and recorded the balance. “They seem to like each other a lot.”

“Good.”

* * *

With a small bag of soft, meaty-flavored dog treats in his lap, Hwanwoong rode the early bus to Hongdae. Youngjo’s rooftop apartment wasn’t far from the bus stop. It was about a three-block walk for the half-asleep convenience store clerk. He reached the building, climbed the metal stairs to the roof, and crunched his way across the gravel to Youngjo’s door. 

The key was tucked under the mat and Hwanwoong retrieved it. It glided smoothly into the lock, which opened with a quiet click. Hwanwoong slipped his shoes off and padded across the small room in stocking feet, approaching the bed where Youngjo was passed out with Sunny beside him. Youngjo’s hand was wrapped in a white bandage, probably to keep the burn salve off his sheets while he slept. 

Sunny, Youngjo’s fluffy little white dog, had curled into a ball and tucked his nose under his tail to sleep. Hwanwoong felt terrible about waking him, but he couldn’t get into bed if he didn’t. He gently stroked Sunny’s back. “Sunny,” he whispered. “Treats!” The dog perked up and barked. “Shh, hush! Don’t wake Youngjo!” He continued petting Sunny with one hand, pulling out a treat with the other. Sunny yearned forward, sniffing the air. “That’s right. It’s for you. I’ll put it on the floor, okay?” Hwanwoong dropped the treat and Sunny leapt off the bed to find it. 

Hwanwoong undressed, stopping at his boxer briefs, and tucked himself beneath Youngjo’s comforter. The bed was warm with Youngjo’s body heat, softer than his yo in the basement, and the pillow beneath his head smelled like a mixture of freshly washed sheets and whatever shampoo Youngjo used.

The artist turned over, wrapping an arm around Hwanwoong’s waist and snuggling against him. “You know it’s rude to force puppies out of bed,” Youngjo mumbled, his deep morning voice rumbling against Hwanwoong’s shoulder.

“He can get back in the bed,” Hwanwoong argued. “I just didn’t want to lie down and squish him.”

Youngjo chuckled and kissed Hwanwoong’s cheek. “Go to sleep. I’ll make sure you’re fed if you come to the café after you wake up, okay?”

“Mmm,” Hwanwoong hummed, settling deeper into the bed. Sunny hopped onto the mattress, nestling himself in a spot by Hwanwoong’s hip, and curled up in a ball again. Why didn’t Hwanwoong just move in?


	2. Morning Coffee

Youngjo began with a smooth sweep of his pencil, impressing a curl on the cream-white paper of the sketchbook in his lap. With a few more dots and lines, that curl took on a resemblance to Sunny, snuggled close to Hwanwoong in the bed. He moved on, the pencil draping the creased blanket over a human form, a young man asleep on his side. Youngjo had to lift his hand off the page. The pressure was beginning to make his burn from the day before sting and it seemed to bite him all the way to the bone. He held up the sketchbook, comparing it against his subject.

Hwanwoong’s hair fell over his eyes in a way Youngjo wasn’t sure he could ever replicate, no matter how long he studied the intricacies of fine art. His eyes were closed, feather-soft eyelashes fanning his cheeks. His lips were parted and Youngjo glimpsed Hwanwoong’s straight white tiger teeth as the boy snored softly against the pillow. Youngjo set the sketchbook and pencil down next to his paint palette and moved around the room, picking up Hwanwoong’s discarded clothes and folding them in a pile. He had a job to get ready for, so he retreated to his apartment’s odd excuse for a bathroom and turned on the shower, tugging the light blue curtain shut and blocking himself off from view if Hwanwoong wandered into the kitchen for a drink or a snack.

The rooftop room was just that. A room. Beyond the front door, to the right as a person entered, was a kitchen space with a small stove, refrigerator, and a sink where he washed the dishes as well as brushed his teeth and cleansed his face. Past that, the sky blue curtain hid a toilet and a showerhead. There was one metal shelf on the wall to hold his shampoo and shower gel. Youngjo would have happily sold his soul for a bathtub and a real door. 

If a person walked straight through his front door, their feet would carry them into his bedroom. It wasn’t particularly large. His bed fitted in the corner, squeezed in against the wall to make space for the easel and the small table of paints and pencils, charcoal sticks and pastels that he obsessed over daily. He had a dresser pushed against another wall, but most of his clothes were strewn across the floor. They were easier to find that way. 

The bedroom was also big enough to accommodate the tripod, now folded up and resting against the side of the dresser, that he used to use for cam shows. They called him Ravn. It was decent money while it lasted. He supplemented his income from the café with whatever his viewers were willing to spare to watch him strip and jerk off, or fuck another guy or girl. That was part of Youngjo’s appeal; he could get it up for just about anybody. And Sunny was a smart dog. He knew when the camera was set up, it was time to go hide in the kitchen or under the bed. 

When Hwanwoong tiptoed into Youngjo’s life, he decided he’d do anything to keep him there. So, although there wasn’t exactly much food in the fridge, Youngjo suspended his cam career. Keeping Hwanwoong comfortable was far more important than filling his own stomach. 

* * *

_ The blond-haired boy, probably no taller than Youngjo’s sister, stood near the entrance and intently watched Sungwoo play his guitar. He looked like a high school student, but a high schooler would have been in class at that time of day, and he wore no school uniform. He made his way inside, settling at a table and plugging his phone into the outlet in the wall. Youngjo stepped out from behind the counter and approached, and the boy stared up at him with wide eyes. “Can I get you anything to eat or drink?” Youngjo asked, pulling a notepad and pen out of the pocket of his apron. _

_ “I…” The boy hesitated, eyes darting around the room. “Look, the electricity is off at my place and I don’t have a lot of money right now. I really just need to charge my phone. Just let me hang out here for an hour or so. Please?” _

_ “How old are you?” Youngjo slipped his notepad back in his pocket and looked the boy over. Up close, maybe he wasn’t as young as he thought. _

_ “22. Like the Taylor Swift song.” The boy wiped the fingerprints off his phone screen with his sleeve. “Can I stay?” _

_ “Would you prefer a latte or an americano?” _

_ “I told you, I don’t have any money.” He looked up at Youngjo with pleading eyes. “I just want to call my mom.” _

_ “It’s on me,” Youngjo said softly. “You have to look like a paying customer or my boss won’t be happy. So, latte? Or americano?” _

_ “Latte,” the boy said. His gaze lowered and he seemed to relax. “Extra cream, if that’s okay.” _

_ “I’ll bring that right over. Oh!” He spun around on his heels, facing the boy again. “Chocolate muffin, or apple cinnamon crumble muffin?” _

* * *

Youngjo turned off the shower and headed back to his room dripping wet and naked. He stepped lightly so as not to wake Hwanwoong, dried off, and dressed himself. Before he left, Youngjo quickly scribbled a note and left it on his pillow for Hwanwoong to find when he woke.

**_Peanut,_ **

**_I’m at work but you can call or text me if you need me. Please do me the favor of feeding my dog and putting fresh water in his water bowl when you get up. Let him outside to potty, and then come to the café so I can treat you._ **

**_-Nyangie_ **

Youngjo was supposed to go to Hongik Daehakkyo, the university that gave the Hongdae neighborhood its name. He found work in the area and rented his rooftop room nearby. The neighborhood was alive. It inhaled creativity and exhaled art and music and dance. Youngjo loved everything about Hongdae, from the murals to the performance venues, and from the street food to the street musicians. 

And then Seoul National University came calling.

While he couldn’t turn down such a prestigious school, he also couldn’t bear to leave Hongdae. Sure, it was a hassle, bussing from home to school and back. But for the most part, Youngjo was pleased with his arrangement.

Youngjo kissed Hwanwoong’s temple, then scratched Sunny behind the ears. One eye opened slowly and Sunny gave him a sleepy glance. “Look after Hwanwoong, okay?” Youngjo said, stroking the little dog’s head. “Keep him safe from intruders and dokkaebi. Remind him to feed you. Growl at him until he does it.” Sunny curled again, draping his long tail over his snout and closing his eyes. He let out a little doggy sigh. “Ah, big sigh. Dog life must be so hard.” 

He stuck his feet in his sneakers and headed outside, locking the door as he left. He passed by the low table on the roof, thinking it was in need of a good scrubbing and a fresh coat of paint, and he wanted to cover it in art and really make it his own. Maybe he’d do that later. He could call over Geonhak or Yonghoon and see if they wanted to help. It might be cool to have his friends contribute their own style. Youngjo liked having reminders that he was cared for.

The metal stairs from the roof to the ground had no give. They clanked and clunked with every step, holding solid, and the impact felt like running across asphalt. His feet finally landed on solid concrete and he began his walk to the café. It took most of 15 minutes, assuming Youngjo managed not to get distracted by a piece of art that had popped up overnight or an early morning street performer. 

That was why he always left the apartment early. This time, he found himself standing beside a bookstore with fresh graffiti on its wall. A stylized human face in neon pink, green, and purple stared back at him, graciously signed by its creator. Youngjo leaned back, regarding the piece the way some people did with fine art in a museum. His eyes traced each line, even following the paint that dripped down the wall and made it look like the face was melting. He pulled out his phone, snapped a photo of the face, and continued on his way.

Youngjo slipped into the café through the side door and went straight for the office, through an inconspicuous black door behind the counter. He clocked in for his shift and grabbed his apron, tying it tightly around himself. As one of the management team, he’d be opening the shop alone, but the schedule showed one of his baristas would be arriving a few hours later. He wiped down the counter and the espresso machine, then moved on to the few small tables that fit inside the café, straightening the chairs as he went, gradually making his way to the main entrance of the place. It was a heavy garage door. He crouched down and unlocked it, grabbed it by the handle, and heaved it upwards. The door opened smoothly with a loud, metallic rumble. Cool morning air poured in. It was humid and already beginning to warm up for the day.

The Rolling Hall sat diagonally across the street from the café, all cool gray with red signage. The place was legendary among musicians, from pop stars to jazz artists to underground rock bands. Its facade was narrow. If you weren’t specifically looking for it, Youngjo felt it was easy to overlook. The venue had posters up, promoting an upcoming show, but Youngjo couldn’t see who was playing or when from a distance. Perhaps he would take a stroll across the street when his barista arrived. Maybe he’d just ask Sungwoo whenever he showed up.  _ If  _ Sungwoo was coming. The guitarist came and went as he pleased, but the café staff were always happy to have him as a regular. He’d spend hours sipping coffee and playing music, drawing in customers and keeping Youngjo company when the place was empty.

There were bean bag chairs near the entrance to make the café look cozy, and Youngjo fluffed them up and positioned them to be visible, yet out of the way. They were awfully inviting, but Youngjo didn’t dare sink down into one. If a customer showed up, he couldn’t get up very quickly to serve them. It was almost like they ate people. The customers who sat in the bean bag chairs always stayed longer, either because they were comfortable or because they were trapped. 

Two young women shyly approached, holding hands. They were white, probably tourists, and they half-bowed awkwardly. Youngjo smoothly returned the greeting. “Hi,” one of the women said in English. “Can you speak English?”

“I can speak enough English,” Youngjo said with a smile. “We are open. Come inside and tell me what you’d like to have.”

With a sigh of relief, the women followed Youngjo to the café counter. His day had officially begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I work as a peer tutor at my college and I just worked with a super awesome student who totally made my day, so I had the energy to write up another chapter!


	3. Determination

Hwanwoong shuffled around the rooftop room, still half asleep. His head felt heavy and fuzzy and it was as though he operated on autopilot. He filled Sunny’s water dish with fresh tap water, then dumped enough kibbles in his food dish to cover the bottom. Sunny scratched at the front door. “I know, I know, Sun,” Hwanwoong said through a yawn. He opened the door and let the dog dash out onto the rooftop and over to his favorite pee spot. “Your piss is gonna leak into the building downstairs if you keep doing it in the same place every time.” Sunny squatted and made eye contact with Hwanwoong. “Hey, come on, man. I don’t stare at you while  _ I  _ take a crap.”

* * *

The café was bustling by the time Hwanwoong arrived for lunch. The guitarist he was used to seeing wasn’t around, but a virtuoso violinist had set up shop near the entrance and was drawing quite a crowd. The guy was a spectacle with short, fading blue hair and skinny limbs, dancing along to his own music. He wore big tortoiseshell glasses without lenses. Hwanwoong would have watched him for longer had Youngjo not called out for him. He felt himself smiling as the artist approached, untying his apron. “You have good timing,” Youngjo said. “I was about to take my lunch break. Do you want to eat here or go somewhere else?”

“I’m fine with eating here.” Hwanwoong shrugged and smiled. “What’s on the menu today?”

“There’s an eggs benedict sandwich.” Youngjo rolled his apron into a ball and held it in front of his stomach. “Sunja has been making them almost nonstop since she got here this morning. They’re pretty popular, so they must be good.”

“Sounds good,” Hwanwoong agreed. “I need to run home after lunch. You know, make sure everything is still there.” Youngjo nodded as he wrapped an arm around Hwanwoong’s shoulders and led the smaller boy to the counter to place their order. “I don’t know why, but I’ve been really paranoid lately. Like somebody’s going to catch me.”

“You can always pack up and move into my place.”

“Nyangie-”

“I know, I know.” Youngjo sighed. “You want coffee too? Sunja!” The girl behind the counter perked up at her name. “Two of the sandwich of the day and two vanilla lattes, whipped cream on one.”

Youngjo got a free meal at work every day. Hwanwoong often found himself feeling envious of his boyfriend. The café served hot, fresh food and smooth coffee. The convenience store, on the other hand, had premade triangle kimbap and canned drinks. If he wanted something hot, he could spend 800 won and get a cup of instant ramyeon with complimentary disposable chopsticks. For 1,500 won, Hwanwoong could fill a cup with weak black coffee, and he frequently did so, late at night under the sickly green glow of the fluorescent lights. The café’s coffee was strong, ethically sourced, and expertly crafted. The sunlight spilled in through the garage door, bathing the café and all its patrons in a warm glow. There was fresh air.

Youngjo was eating a proper meal for free. Hwanwoong had expired kimbap. They were not the same.

Youngjo tapped his card on the NFC reader, having to pay only for Hwanwoong’s meal and coffee, and the pair sat down at a table near the wall. “Do you have any leads yet?” Youngjo asked. Hwanwoong shook his head before picking up his sandwich and sinking his teeth into the toasted marble rye bread. “I know a guy in the multimedia department who’s making a film for a project. He really wants to get it entered into a festival. You won’t get paid, but if the film gets in, at least you’ll have your face out there.”

“I don’t really want to do a student film,” Hwanwoong said as he swallowed. He picked up his coffee to wash down the sandwich. “I know beggars can’t be choosers. I know I’m being picky. Look at my face, though. I’m  _ so  _ cute.”

“You’re  _ so  _ short,” Youngjo countered. “The leading man is never 168 centimeters tall.”

“I don’t need to be a lead,” Hwanwoong argued. “I can be a second lead. I can be a sidekick. I don’t fucking care. I’m a pile of wasted potential right now and I hate it.”

“I understand-”

“You really don’t.”

“Calm down, Peanut.” Youngjo reached for Hwanwoong’s hand. Hwanwoong took a deep breath, only then realizing how upset he was getting. “You know, there are modeling agencies posting ads on campus all the time. Usually all they’re looking for is new photographers, but I’ll keep an eye out for you. And let me know if you change your mind about the film so I can talk to my acquaintance about it.”

“Sure,” Hwanwoong breathed, taking Youngjo’s fingers and squeezing them. “I’ll do that. I thought about looking into an agency, you know. Maybe King Kong? Or I could try On The Hunt. They’re always scouting. But with my night job… I just don’t know if I’ll have the time to devote to everything an agency would want from me.”

Youngjo sipped his coffee, staring into Hwanwoong’s eyes and making the blond feel smaller than normal. “It’s not a bad idea,” he finally said. “At the very least, they’ll give you a safe place to live. They can probably work around your schedule. And once you start getting acting gigs, you won’t need that shitty overnight job anymore. You’ll have less time to spend with me, but I’ll feel a lot better knowing you’re sleeping somewhere safe and warm.”

“You think I should audition then?”

“I do,” Youngjo said. “And I’ll help. I have a nice camera.”

“Okay. I’ll think about it.” Hwanwoong took another sip of his coffee. “Thanks for feeding me.”

* * *

Hwanwoong unscrewed the doorknob and winced as it clattered on the cement floor on the other side of the door. If his paranoia was correct, he could be facing a nasty beatdown the moment he stepped inside.

The room was dim. Shafts of sunlight pierced the dirty windows, dust floating gracefully around the room. His yo was still set up along the wall. There was no one inside, and no sign that anyone had wandered in recently. Hwanwoong reattached the doorknob and shut the door. 

_ “Eomma, I’ll be fine,” Hwanwoong promised, squeezing his mother’s shoulders extra tightly. “I’ll call you as soon as I reach Seoul. It can’t be too hard to find work when I get there.” _

_ His mother pulled back, staring into his face, concern etching lines between her eyes. “If you have trouble, you come straight home, okay? Good luck out there, baby. I’ll be waiting to see you in a TV drama.” Hwanwoong smiled and nodded. He started for the bus stop, hitching his backpack higher as he walked. “Nothing too blue, Hwanwoongie!” his mother shouted at his back. “You’re too young for love scenes!”  _

_ Chuckling to himself, Hwanwoong waved his arm once in acknowledgement of his mother’s orders. _

Hwanwoong fired up his laptop. The battery was below 50% and he thought he should have brought it along to the café to charge. He connected to the pub’s wifi, a weak signal just trickling through the floor above.

_ Hwanwoong felt like crying. He trudged down the street, dragging his backpack along. He couldn’t afford an apartment. He couldn’t even move into a residence for less than 250,000 won a month. 250,000 won for a bedroom the size of a closet and a cluster of shared bathroom and kitchen facilities, and that was for the dirtiest, shittiest place he could find. What a joke. Maybe his uncle was right when he’d advised Hwanwoong to work in Jeonju for a while and save up before moving. At this rate, he wasn’t sure he could make it in the capital. _

_ A stray cat skittered across his path and darted down the alley beside an indoor pocha. Hwanwoong followed and crouched nearby. He held out his hand, clicking his tongue and cooing, “Goyangi… Come. Come to me.” The cat regarded him warily and bounded down a set of stairs, slinking through a door that was slightly ajar. Hwanwoong followed again, the door creaking as he pushed it open. _

King Kong’s actors all looked so glamorous and experienced. And expensive. Hwanwoong checked the audition requirements. He needed headshots and measurements, a video no longer than 20 minutes, and proof of identification if he was called in to audition in person. They expected him to introduce himself, perform a monologue, and perform a short face-to-face scene, all in under 20 minutes. That would be easy enough with some practice. He could ask Youngjo to take his headshots or find a photographer at school who would do it.

_ The room the cat led him to was sparse and quiet with very little light. He stepped inside cautiously. “Y-yeoboseyo? Gonyang? Nyang nyang?” The cool, shady basement had no indoor access to the pub upstairs. He didn’t know why the door had been left ajar, or for how long. If he could manage to go undetected, it might be a decent place to set up while he saved enough to get a legitimate room. _

He’d told his mom he’d be an actor or a model, and so far all he had to show for all his efforts in Seoul was this dirty basement. This little squatter’s hole. There truly was nothing to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this is the end of my writing funk. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the new chapter!


	4. Art

“Do you even wash yourself?” Youngjo admonished as he sat behind Hwanwoong in the jjimjilbang. He playfully slapped the blond boy’s back with the Italy towel before slipping his hand back inside it and scrubbing Hwanwoong’s skin furiously. “There’s so much dirt.”

“I live on a cement floor,” Hwanwoong reminded him. “Don’t scrub so hard, Nyangie. It hurts.”

Youngjo eased up. “Sorry. But you’re auditioning for talent agencies and you know it’s not all about what you can do; it’s about what you look like.”

“I know.” Hwanwoong sighed. “Should I lie and say I’m 180 centimeters? They might not even watch my video if I put my real height in my profile.”

Youngjo scrubbed the abrasive Italy towel against Hwanwoong’s lower back now, twisting his arm at an odd angle. Bits of dead skin and dirt rolled up and stuck to Hwanwoong’s back. “Maybe not,” he agreed, “but I don’t think you should lie about it. That’s the wrong course of action. They’ll find out you’re lying and then you still won’t get signed. Lean forward a little.”

“I can wash my own butt,” Hwanwoong insisted.

“I believe you,” Youngjo laughed. “I just want a better angle on your lower back. And then we can switch and you can scrub my back.” He nudged Hwanwoong’s shoulder and the smaller boy leaned forward. “Anyway, I think you’re blessed. You know how popular high school dramas are. You’ll probably be able to play a high school kid until you’re at least 30.”

“That would make my mother happy,” Hwanwoong chuckled. “She says I’m too young for love scenes.”

“Aww,” Youngjo cooed. “Then it’s best not to tell her what goes on at my place, isn’t it?”

* * *

Youngjo sat cross-legged on top of the low table on the roof. Hwanwoong was playing tug of war with Sunny, pulling the rope toy gently and surrendering so Sunny could chew it up. He reached over and grabbed the end of the toy again and the game started over. The phone in Youngjo’s hand rang several times before going to voicemail. Youngjo hung up, grumbled, and tried reconnecting.  _ “Yah,”  _ said a smooth voice on the other end.  _ “You don’t just leave a damn message?” _

“You’re right, Yonghoon, it  _ is  _ nice to hear from me,” Youngjo chimed. “I have a favor to ask.”

_ “I’m not sure I want to know,”  _ Yonghoon teased, the hint of a smile in his voice.  _ “Go ahead, then. Ask.” _

“Can you take my boyfriend’s headshots so he can audition?” Youngjo’s heart felt like it stopped. There was silence on the other end of the line. He winced. “Hoon?”

_ “I took one photography class to fulfill a block of elective credits,”  _ Yonghoon finally sighed.

“Yeah, and you were good at it,” Youngjo pointed out. “It’s just headshots. He’s really handsome. It’ll take an hour or two at the most. Hwanwoong is so photogenic.”

_ “You’re an artist. I build robots. Why don’t you take the photos?” _

“I draw and paint. I don’t know anything about composition in physical space, but you do. And you know how to light a subject. I’ll get us access to a studio on campus for an afternoon. All you have to do is set it and shoot.”

_ “Mmm,”  _ Yonghoon purred. Youngjo imagined him rubbing his chin and staring off into the distance the way he often did when they spoke.  _ “Is he just trying out for one agency?” _

“Two,” Youngjo said. “King Kong and On The Hunt.”

_ “Give me a few days to research both of them,”  _ Yonghoon said.  _ “If you’re getting headshots done, it’s best to play to an agency’s preferences. I’ll do my best to make the photos pander to the executives’ tastes.” _

Youngjo perked up. “You mean you’ll do it?” he blurted, startling Hwanwoong, who craned his neck and stared at Youngjo with wide eyes. “You’re amazing, hyung. We can’t pay you but-” The line went dead. Youngjo stared at his phone. “He hung up on me when I said he wouldn’t get paid.”

Hwanwoong’s shoulders drooped. “So that’s it then?” he asked softly. Youngjo bit his lip and reached out to cup Hwanwoong’s cheek. “We just have no one to help with this?” His bottom lip began to quiver.

Youngjo’s phone rang. It was Yonghoon. He scowled, accepting the call. “What?” he snapped.

_ “Did I scare you?”  _ Yonghoon laughed.  _ “I was only trying to scare you. You can’t pay me but… I’m in. What are hyungs for anyway?” _

“You crazy bastard,” Youngjo scolded. “You almost made Hwanwoong cry, I’ll have you know.”

_ “Tell him I’m sorry and let’s shoot on Thursday. I’ll send over some of my research when I’ve got it.” _

He hung up before Youngjo had the chance to thank him. Youngjo leaned his body back, holding himself up with his hands on the table. “He was fucking with us, Peanut,” he muttered. “Yonghoon, the bastard, says he’ll shoot you on Thursday.”

Hwanwoong dropped Sunny’s rope toy and spun around, taking Youngjo’s face in his hands and surprising him. He moved so fast, Youngjo didn’t notice Hwanwoong’s lips pressing against his until the boy pulled back. Youngjo chased the kiss. He sat up, his arms locked around Hwanwoong’s waist, and held on tightly as he yearned his mouth towards Hwanwoong again. “Oh,  _ now  _ you want to kiss me back?” Hwanwoong teased, rubbing his nose on Youngjo’s.

“Mhmm,” Youngjo hummed, closing his eyes. “Do it again. Please?” He smiled as Hwanwoong’s fingers combed gently through his hair. He felt Hwanwoong’s soft breath on his lips before they were kissing again, a gentle, featherlight caress that would have made his knees weak had he been standing up. Hwanwoong still tasted like the ice cream they’d had after leaving the jjimjilbang.

“Nyangie,” Hwanwoong breathed as he pulled back again.

“Mmm?” Youngjo smiled at him.

“I’m gonna be an actor!” the blond squealed, breaking free and jumping up and down out of excitement. Sunny stood clear of the excited boy, watching him closely, his rope toy still hanging from his mouth.

“Maybe!” Youngjo added with a laugh. “Hopefully. Stop jumping or the people downstairs will complain.”

Hwanwoong obeyed, gliding back to the table and sitting down next to Youngjo. “Hopefully,” he agreed. “I know I can do it.”

Youngjo wrapped his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Me too,” he said.

* * *

Youngjo was working on a daunting piece of artwork that night. His canvas was a meter tall. It seemed to leer at him from its place on the easel. He lightly sketched the outline of a tree trunk along the left side, stretching it up to the top of the canvas where it burst into a canopy of branches. “Where’s my hoodie?” Hwanwoong asked from behind him. “Did I not bring one along this time?”

“You showed up in a t-shirt, baby,” Youngjo replied. He drew a line for the horizon slightly above the middle of the canvas. “Take one of mine if you’re worried about being cold tonight.”

“Thanks.”

Minutes passed. Youngjo had almost finished sketching the basic outline of the painting’s background when a pair of fingers walked their way up his spine. He smiled as he set his pencil down. “Yes, baby?”

“I wanted to hug you from behind but I was worried about fucking up your art,” Hwanwoong admitted. Youngjo turned around to face him. “I’m leaving for work.”

Youngjo wrapped his arms around Hwanwoong’s shoulders, pulling him against his chest. “Be careful,” he mumbled into Hwanwoong’s hair.

“I’m always careful,” Hwanwoong said. “Have fun with whatever you’re making.”

“It’s going to take several days,” Youngjo warned, releasing Hwanwoong. “When you come over again, be careful not to touch this canvas. It’ll be wet with oil paint.”

“I will not touch your wet painting,” Hwanwoong said. “I promise.” He rose up on his tiptoes and kissed Youngjo softly. “I’ll be going now. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Bye, Peanut.”

Youngjo watched Hwanwoong leave the rooftop room and descend down the metal stairs outside. He turned back to his canvas and eyed it, like a boxer sizing up his opponent before a match. He picked up his pencil and began to sketch a tiger prowling through the foreground.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!  
> Please don't hesitate to leave comments, as I read everything and always reply. I really do love hearing from you.  
> \- Rose


End file.
